


Epic

by bonehandledknife (ladywinter), Primarybufferpanel (ArwenLune)



Series: The Mountains Are The Same [17]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Arguments, Broken Families, Buckle Up Kids We're Driving Into A Feels Tornado, Drama, Gen, Implied Past Rape/Non-Con, Podfic Welcome, Rape Culture, Victim Blaming, Warboys dealing with a post-Joe world, culture clash, implied past Immortan Joe, the wheel altar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 01:19:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4768160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladywinter/pseuds/bonehandledknife, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLune/pseuds/Primarybufferpanel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Epic: An ordinary climb rendered difficult by a dangerous combination of weather, injuries, darkness, lack of preparedness or other adverse factors.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>“You can’t take him!”</p><p>“It’s Tenday, we get the Pups on Tendays,” the War Boy declares.</p><p>“That was only under Joe!” a heavily pregnant breeder shouts. Her tattoo marks her as from the breeder court.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Epic

**Author's Note:**

> “We decided to build an altar of steering wheels that had both the wheels of warriors past and present.”
> 
> — Colin Gibson on the Altar, “The Art of Mad Max Fury Road”

Kompass and Rachet walk in the direction of the altar room, moods lifted a little with the thought that some things can still be the same, even after everything in the Citadel changed. The reassuring traditions of Tenday can be maintained. Furiosa had said so herself, wan and pale and feverish, when she'd told them to go.

Austeyr, looking between Ace and the Wastelander, had opted to stay with the Boss.

The good mood lasts until a pup comes running up from the direction of the Breeder's quarters.

"Kompass!" he gasps, "Come quick, it's all—" he turns around and leads them in the direction of shouted voices.

“You can’t take him!”

“It’s Tenday, we get the Pups on Tendays,” the War Boy declares.

“That was only under Joe!” a heavily pregnant breeder shouts. Her tattoo marks her as from the breeder court.

“You get them for the other nine, we get the tenth!”

“And then you take them away the moment they can be useful to you and you paint them white and tell them to forget their names and their mothers! How _convenient._ ” The breeder sneers.

And it’s then that Janey comes walking up, together with Joe's widows. They've obviously been sent for by the breeders.  Kompass feels his face freeze, because yesterday— he'd been so _sure_ , and he doesn't know why but he suddenly flinches at the things he's said. He hasn't changed his mind, he _hasn't_ , but he shouldn't have maybe said— because it doesn't _matter_ because:

Joe is _dead_. The Boss killed him.

He can just imagine what Furiosa would say if she knew he'd spoken to her new crew that way. The women say they're not her new crew, but as far as she is concerned they must be. She must have thought them worthy of her efforts, and even if he doesn't understands that _at all_ , even if he's angry at the mediocre plan and the mediocre choices that got her so injured, he'll need to work with these women if he wants to work for Furiosa.

This morning he's not so sure that it matters what these women say about Joe. Not when they’re trying to get the Citadel united, not when he’d been scrambling all over the towers yesterday trying to get everyone driving on the same road. He could barely look at them for how he feels like he’d shot himself in the foot.

The breeder turns to look at Joe’s widows, explaining that the War Pups and War Boys have come to take the pups. She looks hard and angry when she's finished. “You’ve said things were going to be different now, _how is this different_?”

“Their sons will not be battle fodder,” Capable tries to tell the War Pups gently as they clutch the toddlers to themselves, then looking up firmly at various injured War Boys who are blocking the women as best they can.

“What’s the argument?” Kompass asks gruffly, getting a headache already. All the War Boys turn to him in relief; his being of Furiosa’s crew, the Ace’s second, and with all other crew out with the war party, he is probably the highest ranking War Boy who can still do war. Well, mostly. He's left behind the sling, but his arm ain't exactly fixed yet.

The widows turn to look at him too, but hard-faced, suspicious of him now.

“They’re taking our sons!” came the cry from a breeder.

When Kompass turns to Rachet, the War Boy simply shrugs. Kompass looks at the mullish looking group of breeders, and Joe’s widows, and the two elders that Furiosa brought back, “We’re taking them for a day like we always do.”

“Things are different now,” Cheedo insists aggressively. “The babies are not yours.”

“Not all yours either,” Kompass points out, facing the breeders still reaching for their sons, “Or did y’all forget us pistoning you up?”

Toast makes to lunge for him but Janey holds her back, whispering in her ear, glancing at the infants, still.

“We ask for one day,” he continues patiently, trying to figure out the problem, trying to be placating, “It’s not like they’re useful to you, eh?”

That only seemed to enrage them more, “What use does a baby need to have to its mother?! We _love_ them!”

“You… do?” Kompass blinks and tilts his head, completely confounded.

That rocks their anger back on its heels and his confusion seems mirrored.

“The Pups, they’re ours,” he tries to awkwardly explain, “Of course we. I mean why would _you_ ? They can’t protect the Citadel for you, they can’t repair the pipes for you, or climb the farms to grow your greens, or— they’re _tiny_ , how could they!” He bursts out frustrated and with a little bit of shame, “And it might not be the cushy dens of the breeders when we take them, but War Boys protect our own, best we can.”

“ ‘ _Cushy’_!” one of the breeders yells, indignant, but Capable holds her and asks for a moment from her with her eyes.

“You think,” Capable asks slowly, looking around at the Boys, “you all think, that the babies aren’t loved by their mothers because they aren’t useful, like War Boys are?”

“What breeder ever cared even much for a War Boy?” Kompass asks rhetorically.

“What War Boy ever cared for a ‘breeder’!” one of the women screamed, “as more than a reward? A hole to—”

“Do you even Remember any of us?” one of the War Boys yelled, slumping on a crutch and a splinted leg, “You see so many—”

“You make it sound like a _choice—_!” One of the breeders, cradling a girl pup, hisses.

Kompass shrieks a whistle between two fingers. A baby begins to cry. He feels suddenly exhausted, _This is getting nowhere._ He could see the argument spiraling out ahead of them, the War Boys looking defiant and the women looking mulish and the War Pups looking torn and the littlest ones howling their heads off. They cannot afford this right now with power so unstable and newly held, with men in the crevices of the Citadel looking for an angle where they could seize power and with possible war parties bearing down on them in perhaps another ten or eleven days.

“You,” Kompass looks towards the ex-wives, “You said there will be change. But you can’t leave us without foundation, we still need our history.”

“When did we ever deny you that?” Toast asks, eyes narrowed.

 _She doesn’t even know what they’re asking of us_ , he realizes then tries to curb the immediate rage that tries to lance his logic, tries to remember the women as he’d met them in the Council where he’d been kindly invited, where he'd been _heard_ , and realizes, _but how could they know if none of them ever attend?_

He measures them with his gaze and turns abruptly to the Altar, and the War Boys, “The women are invited to the Remembering.”

“What!”

“But Kompass! they won’t—”

“This has never been _done_ , how can—”

“ ‘ _Immortan_ ’ Joe is _dead_.” He says sharply, staring them down, “Things change. They won’t leave the Pups, so bring them with us.”

There’s some shifting among the War Boys, the older ones especially, but the War Pups are already streaming towards the Altar. A couple of the injured War Boys finally break from their stand-off, helping pick up an infant if they see a pup struggling with two. The breeders give him a quick glance but dash after their own pups as all the young ones take positions in and around the metal structure.

“Tenday is being wasted, quit being so mediocre about it and pull up your pants already,” he orders the straggling War Boys. They all exchange a look then hesitantly head towards the Altar as well, giving an aborted motion to stop the breeders holding girl pups, halted when they catch sight of Kompass’ glare. The widows catch the exchange and hesitantly give him a nod and Kompass feels a pressure build in his forehead that he resists the urge to rub. He’d applied fresh grease for the Remembering, knowing he’d be expected to lead.

Kompass strides past them and halts in front of the wheels. Rachet comes up to him and hands a tiny Pup over and Kompass cradles him in his good arm with long practice. There's a breeder standing nearby, leaning on the arm of another, keeping an anxious eye on the tiny Pup.

“The newest?” Kompass asks.

“Just yesterday,” Rachet confirms.

Kompass nods. The older War Boys with the smallest pups also gather closest to the altar. The women are scattered around the edges, each sticking close to whoever has their pup. They're looking around in curiosity, peering up at where the light breaks into the room, and watching the War Boys guardedly. He steps into a pillar of light and clears his throat.

“ _Today_ ,” Kompass announces with the singsong of ritual, “Todayis another Tenday.”

The room quiets and the War Pups settle in. The words echo against the walls, belling like the way the light struck the metal of the wheels before him, scattering color.

“Today is another day we can Remember. A day where we have new ears, to help us keep Witness.” He calls out.

“ _Witness!_ ” answers the crowd. It is small and hollow to their usual Tendays, but that can’t be helped.

“Small ones,” he says to the pup in his arms, “Small ones,” he raises his gaze to those War Pups around them, “May you grow strong, strong enough to hold these memories, strong enough to also be Remembered. One day you will pick or receive a name and it will be your strength. But until then, lean against these names: I Remember Morsov, roving lead on Furiosa’s crew; the Buzzards had been seen over the crest of the hill...”

And Kompass starts in on his memories, with those he’d Witnessed from their ride out, and the flight of bodies from the Rig as it hit the storm. He paused at the end of his own retelling, for others to jump in with names from their memories or for Witnesses only they have seen. Like this, he works his way backwards day-by-day, Remembering the most Historic deaths, others taking up the lead if his mouth grows sore from speaking, or from recalling.

They go through fifty names and their death-stories, then a hundred. The stories roll out easily despite their number because he knows these stories, he’d _grown_ on these stories like every War Pup. Like every War Boy.

It's comforting, to Remember this long line of names, to speak their history out loud. Half-lives are short, but they have meaning; this is what they are built upon. Everything may have changed since the last Tenday, but these names, these stories, are still the same.

There are pauses every twenty names or so, where the War Pups are encouraged to race each other around the Altar, sometimes mimicking the stories they’ve just heard, and for food and for aqua-cola and for the getting rid of both.

When the tiny pup Kompass is holding begins to wail, he rocks it absently while looking around for a bottle of mother’s milk. Instead the breeder who is hovering nearby, though she's found something to sit on, reaches out for the pup. He resists for a moment, but the wail rises in pitch, and she gives him a hard look.

"You'd let him scream? Or feed him cold milk so he'll be screaming with belly ache later? When I can just feed 'im?"

Kompass can’t fault that even if it makes him grimace, he'd never even considered that feeding the pups milk from a bottle might hurt them. “Come up here then, so he can continue to Witness.”

The woman looks a bit startled but moves forward, and he shifts the pup carefully over to her. It quiets almost immediately as she cradles it to her chest, and he glances at the precious little bottle of priceless milk, the way they're always having to beg for enough of them to feed the pups during Tenday. _Huh_.

"She can't stand very long yet," Miss Gale points out, and Kompass nods, takes the stool she was sitting on and moves it to next to him.

All around him more women reclaim their pups to feed them, and the Altar room grows quiet with the content sounds of it, and the Remembering resumes.

Eventually the stories come to a stop at a hundred sixty and three names, and Kompass holds a hand up after the First Witnessed.

“Traditionally, here, we would remember how Immortan Joe became ‘Immortan’. How he went into death and came out living.” He raises his eyes up in challenge at the ex-wives, “But he’s dead now, we’ve all seen it. But none of us knows the telling of it.”

A buzz starts up from the War Boys, the War Pups. There was dismay in it, and disbelief, and anger, and doubt. Kompass hopes that one of the widows would step up for the telling because the telling of it is how War Boy histories are kept and if there’s no record then the story is free for the taking, as is the power of it.

“Who can Remember us the story?” He prods and stares at the widows in challenge, because if none knows then someone will step up and take credit, or will twist the story in their telling to better favor themselves. The resulting powershifts might blindside Furiosa. And he can’t allow that. “Who’ve Witnessed it?”

“I have.” The wife with the long, dark hair calls out, and steps forward. She stumbles a step but raises her chin and strides to the Altar.

Kompass almost looks forward to it, despite how much this story alters the normal Tenday, because perhaps now he might understand the Boss’ thinking.

Except as the story comes out, Kompass is more disbelieving. Cheedo does the telling with a fine air and a brisk pace, starting from when they set out to when they came back, and with a determined glint to her eye tells of Furiosa ripping Joe’s face off and collapsing in the back of the stolen ride.

“She was _dying_ ,” Cheedo says, voice echoing in the room, “her breathing was horrible, listening to it—” and she holds a hand to her chest and out comes the noise of an ailing engine, of a rotting belt, of nightfevers and gutwounds, and the entire room shudders.

“You understand,” she stares them down, “that when we saw the Wastelander take out a knife it was not like we knew what else to do.” War Pups shifted closer to each other, knowing the shape of Citadel mercy.

She paused and took a breath and in the silence said, “He stabbed her.”

Gasps pile on top of each other in the echoing room to form a wordless outcry.

 _What_ . Kompass feels anxiety claw at his lungs, and blurts out, “But she _lives_ , I just saw her!”

“She lives _again!_ ” Cheedo nods, raising her voice, “Because the Wastelander stabbed her and she breathed then faded because of it; but then he gave her his blood and she lived, because of _that_. He, who was angry at you all enough for using him as a bloodbag that you had to muzzle him, he chose to give her his blood.”

The chatter grew louder and Cheedo lets the sound rise a little before her voice rings out again, “ _Furiosa lives again_ , because of him, because he saw beyond the use that Joe had given him.” She looks at each of the War Pups carrying those even younger, “As you will each live again, if you are more for each other than what anyone defines for you.

“Miss Cheedo!” The Pups breathe, and whisper, and look at each other.

The room’s buzzing again, high and bright, but Kompass only feels a dull confusion and frustration, and the anger that grows from both. At this story of how hard Furiosa fought to leave, how this man helped who’d been trusted like _crew_ , and undercutting all it how desperately the widows were recounted as wishing to run from Joe. How Furiosa aided them, like she’d wished to run too. And he wants to call the story false, but he’s heard her lungs and he’s seen the healing stab wounds, and when he’d met up her, yelling at her, she’d looked at him as if unsure of her place, of her welcome, of being able to return.

“That’s only half the story,” one of the injured War Boys - Lance - shouts, bringing sound to a halt again. “What about Furiosa’s plans for the coup?”

“What coup?” Janey asks from in the back. He catches sight of a flash of red-hair, what looks like widow Capable stepping up from the side.

“The Imperator struck down Immortan Joe for control of the Citadel, didn’t she?” Lance insisted. It’d been what Kompass had assumed, what he _wishes_ would have happened because it’s so much easier to wrap his head around, and he’s not surprised that other War Boys had thought the same.

“Were you even paying attention to the story?” the dark-skinned wife bites out.

“I was right here! You didn’t mention any of it, how she got the idea—”

“It was Angharad’s idea.” Capable cut in.

Lance blinks, shakes it off, rages, “But what about _Furiosa_ , why would she even do this?” A chorus of agreement came from the rest of the War Boys, “You were all in the best of things, Joe did everything for you, did the best he could to protect you, why would she take you away from that? _Why would you let her?_ I get her wanting more power but—”

“I think, young Cheedo,” Janey interrupts, eyes hard. In fact Kompass realizes all of the women were giving them stonefaced looks, as the elder continues, “you should continue from the _very_ beginning, when you were first ‘blessed’ with Joe’s presence. As much as you can stand to say.”

And she who had seemed so tall a moment ago sinks into herself and suddenly looks young, “I… they took me from my family and brought me to the Vault.”

“Well furnished, I hear,” a War Boy sneers from a corner, jealousy reeking. “Gives y’all the best we find from the malls.”

The ex-wife shakes her head, “it’s not, I mean he, Joe, touched me and—”

“Oh he _touched_ you, the Redeemer, what a _hardship_!” laughter rings out.

“ _Schlangers_!” The scream rips through the room, “You _shut your mouth_ on what you don’t know. I protected Cheedo from the worst of it, she’s just not saying it.”

“It’s not my story,” Cheedo says helplessly as the pale dagger-woman strides down towards her in her gangle walk, “I didn’t know if you’d want them to know.”

“Have I ever shied from saying what no one wants to hear?” the dagger singsonged. “The Vault _hurt_. He made us bleed like he releases aqua-cola.” Her fingers reaches down to cup around Cheedo’s wrist.

Dag throws her gaze sideways at the room, “Every moment in there was more cold and more dark and more afraid than every moment I’ve spent here.”

Kompass gives an awkward look around, this was nothing like the rumored luxuries of the heights, not even near the comfort of the Imperator’s levels, and Lance voiced what all the others were thinking, “But you can’t be _serious_ —!”

“A Warboy once said,” a voice rises above them, high. And when they turn, one of the women’s perched between two pups, hair shorn almost Warboy-close. Toast it was, and, “He said that our War Rig’s engine was ‘running hot, and real thirsty.’ You listen to engines right?”

Toast’s eyes are angry, weighting their value. The War Pups hum around her and Kompass gives a nod.

“And if it’s running hot?” she prompts.

“You stop,” the pups answer immediately, “you cool it down or the engine breaks.”

Toast makes a sharp tch with her tongue, “See, even pups know better; _Joe doesn’t stop_.”

There’s a confused noise shattering through the crowd as the War Pups look up at their elders, as blackthumbs look appalled, as small groups of War Boys start chattering, and a couple who’d simply exchanged looks, jaws sharp, neck stiff.

" 'Didn't’," said one of breeders said softly, as if reminding.

Toast gives a shudder, “yeah. He ‘didn’t’ stop. The bastard’s dead, good riddance.” She looks like she would spit at his memory, if she had the chance.

Kompass is still reeling, because none of this fits any better than it did yesterday _._ He looks at Rachet helplessly but the younger man seems even more lost than him. When he turns to look for some sort of support from the remaining older Boys, they looked thoughtful or confused or mullish. Not a one looked like he had an answer to this, this sort of Witnessing.

Because that’s what it was, Kompass knows the shape of grief too well not to recognize it.

And it’s here that the blood-haired one speaks, “Do you know what it is to be afraid at night? Cold no matter what you try?“

She sounds like she’s speaking of the nightfevers, but the women were full-lives how could—

“Because we know. We know what it’s like to hurt through nighttimes enough to wonder if we’d see the morning. Because that’s when he would touch us.”

—that can’t mean, they must be exaggerating, it’s nothing like—

“Do you know what it is to have no control over what your body grows? Because we know that too, Joe gives us lumps, and sometimes we name them before they’re ripped from us.”

—a couple War Boys near the edges start whispering, the ones near the center holds their faces like stone. Kompass listens like watching an incoming crash, with the seconds pulled long.

“Do you know that Angharad,” and her voice breaks just the slightest here, and then strengthens, “She cut patterns into her skin.”

And the War Pups murmur, and the War Boys tilt their heads in her direction a little, at that something familiar.

“She cut patterns and Joe _beat_ her for it, for scratching up his property.” Capable said and raised her voice over the ensuing outcry, “But she didn’t stop because it was hers. Her body was _hers_ , not Joe’s.”

Kompass watches as this thought rolls over the crowd, how every War Boy paints themselves white but still, _still_ , etch up their skin with their own. Were such things really in defiance of being one of Joe’s? Did allowing them on his War Boys mean Joe had no care or claim on them? He fingered his own patterns at his wrist; the N, S, E, and W etched at the base of long, deep vertical slashes up his forearm.

“We’re not so different, don’t you think? The same fears,” She ends a bit softer. “Nux, he told me some of it.”

“And he was like that for all of you?” Kompass’ mind is ticking over some realization, slow, a pressure in his head that he wishes he could avoid, “all the wives?”

“As far as Miss Giddy could remember.” She nods, “apparently he hasn’t changed much.”

There’s an intake of breath next to him, and when Kompass glances over Rachet’s eyes were wide.

“Furiosa,” he breathes out.

"But the Immortan — the Boss—” Rachet protests, “she'd always go real quiet when we talked about the Immortan. 'Cause it hurt to be reminded of—" they've repeated this to themselves, to each other, so many times, but the women's eyes on him make Rachet lose steam a little. "..of what she'd…" he swallows thickly. "...lost..?"

Kompass feels a confused, murderous queasyness rise in him at finally confronting the thought of anybody hurting the Boss, making her feel afraid or out of control. The image of her face when she'd woken up on Organic's ledge that one time, with the man bent over her, flashes before his face. The trapped-animal panic, the utter relief in her eyes when she'd spotted Kompass nearby.

And Kompass’ insides tangle up completely. “We didn’t know,” he croaks.

“You didn’t?” one of the breeders asks skeptically. Her eyes are hard and flat and like Furiosa’s.

“No!” He couldn't think about this right now, couldn't process all the ways this possible new angle - if it were true - would change things. Would change every time he'd ever touched the Boss, even if he would never— He catches sight of a scar on that accusing breeder’s shoulder and it’s not like the scars are rare, sometimes during breedings War Boys would— like marking a thing as their own, putting your name on a knife or a tool, _oh_ — and Kompass loses all control of his lungs as well. “Yes—,” except not _all_ the men behaved like that, not crew at least, the Boss would have had their _hides_ , but… then. The times when she grew cold. The times when men go unWitnessed.  “maybe? ...maybe.” Maybe _enough_ did though, just enough that seems like every breeder he sees is scarred by it.

He slumps a little at the realization.

The woman sits back as if satisfied at his dismay.

He finds himself furious in turn, because he’s afraid, because the ground under his feet feels like sliding sand.

These women might be wrong. (But if they were right why didn’t he realize sooner? How had he never been able to even see this, to realize this, when he’d been tasked to observe and anticipate and throw himself bodily into the path of whatever might damage his superiors?) Wouldn’t he have seen _something_ , if they were right? (But there were so many who’d agreed with the story, there were no surprise on their faces) How had he not seen even with these many thousand-days in the presence of Furiosa (but there was always those little things he could never explain, which he could only attribute to Furiosa being immutable and epic and unknowable)… and _how,_ he realizes with a sick feeling, had he not heard more meaning when these women tried to tell him yesterday?

Kompass finds himself confused and his confusion is his anger and he takes this anger and looks at each of the women and demands, “You will tell this story in future rememberings,” he turning around to also take in the breeders and the elders Furiosa brought back with her, “You will tell the full story, every one of you. So it is Remembered.” He turns to look at the pups, at the babes, “So this doesn’t happen again.”

(Because the telling of it is how War Boy histories are kept and if there’s no record then the story is free to become twisted.)

Kompass wonders how much of Furiosa he ever really knew.

“We’re bringing our girl babies then,” one of the breeders demands in return, “You can’t just take our stories and not let them benefit too!”

He looks at her confused, “You’ve already brought her in, you are already here.

“We’ll have to find more space maybe, and some places to sit,” one of the War Pups suggest, sitting next to that Wretched they’d met at the Council, what was her name... “met some deadly Wretched types, they might have some Remembering to share too.”

“Do it then,” Kompass huffs, as Capable strides up to him.

“I would like to do a Remembering,” she asks. “More than one, if I’m allowed?”

Kompass nods and steps aside, watches as the breeder with the youngest pup, now sleeping, offers him to Capable, who cradles him carefully. Kompass hovers nearby still, empty armed, as Capable begins in the traditional call.

“I Remember Angharad, she was the bravest of us, she said it first: We are not Things...”

And the room ripples with her words.

 

* * *

 

Capable Remembers Angharad and Miss Giddy and Nux, and then Miss Gale comes forward and says Valkyrie and Maadhi and Vicks and Gilly and Keeper of Seeds, and Kompass doesn't have time to think about this even though he needs to, needs to understand how these were somehow the Boss' people, because then one of the breeders, her belly large with pup, comes forward to Remember for the breeders.

There are many names.

Names Kompass has never heard, strange names that sometimes sound like music. Shankara, Tanganutura. After a few of them, the other breeders start saying their own, sometimes with explanations, sometimes without:

"Brahmastra five moons grown, born all twisted..."

"Yelte..."

"Yindi, four years old, kicked by an Imperator..."

"Maryanne..."

"Raina..."

And then the breeder pauses, eyes dashing to the other breeders and to the widows, and starts saying breeder names, perhaps as many as those War Boys that’d ever fell, historic.

Kompass feels his breath catch in his chest. He'd known there weren't always the same breeders when the War Rig crew visited the court, but he'd put that down to some of them havin' full bellies and not needin' to be bred, staying in the breeders' living quarters instead. And to their being half-lives maybe, flaming out quiet and soft.

He did not know so many died when having their pups. He did not know there's nothing soft about birthing pups. That there was so much blood and pain and defiance in the face of it.

The Gates of Valhalla ought to have been open to them, he thinks, then flinches at his own blasphemous thoughts. Nothing is right anymore, nothing makes _sense_ , and people keep lookin' at him to make it right somehow, and his head aches and the voice of the breeder - Many, her name is Many - sounds hollow for a moment.

He'd thought the breeders were _safe_ in their cushy court, well fed and comfortable, kept safe by the War Boys, but now he knows the War Boys put them in danger, _caused_ this, and he feels _sick_. Now he's thinking about one girl he— he'd liked her, she'd let him ask questions about what felt good, what didn't, and he'd never seen her again, did she, had she... and he's thinking about the faint, silvery lines on Furiosa's belly and the scars, and he—

Someone brushes up against his arm, and it's Janey, small and slight and _calm_ in a way that lets his lungs open a little better.

"It's about time to round off, isn't it?" she says softly, and he nods, trying to find words that fit the closing of such an unusual Tenday.

“War Boys,” he calls in the traditional way, “brothers in arms!”

The Warboys and Pups raise their voice in response and its a small noise, making the room sound empty with those who are missing.

Kompass closes his eyes and shakes his head at himself. He thinks for a moment.

Opens his mouth with a pause, then fangs it. “ _Brothers_ ,“ he calls instead, “and Sisters who have just joined."

The answering call this time is louder, fuller.

"This Tenday is—” he searches for words in the faces of those who look at him, at War Boys injured and War Pups worried and babes who did not know much, at women who were breeders and widows and elders. And all of them perhaps now Furiosa’s for her having killed someone previously unkillable. Kompass looks at the altar and remembers his many Tendays and speaks out-loud almost to himself, “Tendays are our foundation. We have always crafted ourselves by the stories told on this day.”

He takes a breath.

“The traditional ending to our Tendays has us tell the story of the Immortan Joe. But the Immortan Joe is dead. That story has _already_ changed, and we must either change with it or live with a foundation false. Drive with axels askew.” He looks back at the crowd, “I see some of you looking at me for answers; I ask you, do you know how to drive, or repair, or lance? Do you have eyes and ears? You can seek and hear truth as well as I can.”

He thinks of yesterday, of how hard he'd fought against hearing truth. Glances at where the widows are standing.

"Maybe better."

 

* * *

 

The Tenday meeting broken up, pups ran around, and some of the unpainted ones were encouraged to try lifting the big wheel. Most of the breeders claimed their pups and left quickly. Kompass stood very still for what felt like long minutes, trying to get his heartbeat down.

He gradually became aware of Rachet talking to somebody, and listened in.

"She only came to us once, when she needed her shoulder unjammed," a breeder said. "But we know she talked to you about.. about us, we know she did."

Kompass turned toward the conversation. The breeder had a baby in her arms, one the pups hadn't tried to claim, so must be a girl. "She told us she'd make sure you fellas were nice with us. Careful."

"Said we'd better be as careful with you as we were with her," Rachet nodded. "And that she'd hear it if anyone weren't."

"Do you remember a fella, crew of yours, kinda scrawny, had staples in his neck, big gear scar on his chest? Visited us.. well, about a two hundred days ago."

“Who?” Kompass searched through his memories but drew up a blank. And that stilled him; if they had him on crew and Furiosa chose not to remember him, with what he’d learned of today...

Rachet looked at Kompass, frowning. "The Gear? Think that's what he called himself. Weren't on the crew for long."

Kompass felt his eyes widen, because the memory crashed home. He hadn't been entirely in on it, but he'd been aware of some heated debate about The Gear, because the Boss or Ace hadn't chosen him; he'd been the son of the Imperator Prime. They hadn't wanted him for the crew, but accepting him had come with a lot of new salvage the War Rig engines had been in need of. Kompass had kept a close eye on him, especially when he was near the Boss - he'd never been allowed into her quarters.

"The Gear," he nodded, with a sense of dread. He'd protected Furiosa from him, but maybe that hadn't been _enough._

The breeder nodded. "Her name was Liala." He recognised that name from the Remembering.

It took Kompass a few seconds to understand the woman was talking about a girl The Gear must have bred.  
"She— she died?"

He vaguely remembered there'd been unrest at the other side of the court that one time, breeders fussing over a girl lying still and pale while the Warboys left. He'd thought it was a new girl upset over a rough breedering, hadn't thought much about it, and that suddenly filled him with shame.

Now Kompass thought about it, The Gear hadn't been Witnessed. He'd just. Not been there, one training, any mention of him dismissed by Furiosa, and summarily been replaced and forgotten.   

 

* * *

 

Kompass finds himself seeing off the last of the pups, making sure they make their way back to their mothers without incident, trying not to think of much in order to keep moving, but there’s a voice that catches his attention and—

“Ek het jou soveel verlang! Ah!” the secondary breeder nuzzled against her pup’s cheek as he withstood it sulkily and then leaned against her in return.

“What?” Kompass finds himself walking over, but the breeder clutches her son against her chest and steps backwards. He stops once he realizes she's backing away from him. Asks, “What did you just say?”

“Ah,” she twitches, shoulders thrown back but head bowed as if she couldn’t decide whether to stand firm or curl up. “It’s nothing, I didn’t mean anything by it.” She holds her pup as if he was to be taken away.

“What’s your name?” Kompass asks feeling something large well in his chest.

“I didn’t mean anything by it! I’m not— It’s just,” she says helplessly, “the sisters say things are changing, we should be allowed to say our mother’s tongues outside of the breeding rooms." Her shoulders straighten, and her voice grows defiant. "You don’t have the right to make us say or think everything the same!”

“I’m not!” Kompass yells, because her twitchy, defiant fear is doing something to him. He doesn't _want_ — he's trying so hard, to make the Citadel work, to make things better like Furiosa wants, and she's looking at him like he's a _monster_. He catches himself, and breathes deep, relaxes his hands, lowers his voice. “Just… what does it mean? That’s it, that’s all I want.”

She looks at him and says quietly, “ ‘I missed you so much.’ ” She looks like she’s bracing herself. He works his throat a little, mouth dry.

“And you learned it from your mother?”

“Yes. It’s. It’s rare,” she gives a short deprecating laugh, “I think she’d made it up, some days, because I’ve never heard anyone else speak it.”

“...where is she now?” He notices her past tense and he doesn’t know what he feels.

She gives him a startled glance, “You’ve heard her story already, I told it during my Remembering.”

He finds himself nodding, face stiff, because he didn't recognise any of those names. But then the only name he remembers is Mamma, which probably isn't a name.

She stares. Starts backing away with her pup, and and then, when she's out of range, turns to hurry off.

Kompass’ tongue is stuck in his mouth, around the word, ‘ _goeienag_.’

 _Goodnight._ He thinks about saying it as he watches the back of the woman who is probably his sister, tries to find enough air to say it loud enough, before she’s out of earshot.

Doesn’t make it.

He remembers: _Ek het jou soveel verlang._

He remembers the melody of a song.

He stands there for a very long time, trying to remember the words. (But all he hears is:  _stop that baby talk, you’re with us now. Want to become a War Boy do you? Stop crying, you funny thing._

_She's just a breeder. You're a War Pup now._

_Grow up._

_Stop **crying**! Do you hear me?!) _

It’s safer, being angry, but he doesn’t have the energy anymore. His fingers goes to his wrist and dig in where the lines end, a compass rose.

(—his name was the only thing of hers he'd been able to keep.) 

**Author's Note:**

> Epic: a long poem, typically one derived from ancient oral tradition, narrating the deeds and adventures of heroic or legendary figures or the history of a nation.
> 
>  
> 
> "[This is their ancestor’s altar](http://bonehandledknife.tumblr.com/post/124215135315/we-decided-to-build-an-altar-of-steering-wheels). There are at least three generations of War Boys shown in this shot: future, present, and past. 
> 
> The altar is both graveyard and cradle." 
> 
>  
> 
> The song Kompass is trying to remember is [Prinz Pi's 'Kompass ohne Norden'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UPOgrtlc_ds), except his mother slowed it down completely and sung it like a lullaby:  
> 
> 
>   
>  _Bob Dylan gab mir einst einen Kompass ohne Norden_   
>  _So treibe ich verloren in ein unbekanntes Morgen_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Bob Dylan once gave me a compass without North  
> So I drive lost in an unknown morning


End file.
